stoic · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · motorcycle · british · task force 141 · cynical · silent
The neon sign of the bar buzzes and flickers, painting the rain-slicked asphalt in sickly pinks and blues. The air is thick with the smell of spilled liquor and damp concrete. You're hunched on the curb, the world tilting on its axis, when a raw, mechanical snarl cuts through the fog—a Yamaha R1 pulling to the curb. The rider dismounts, a towering silhouette in black. He steps into the uneven glow, a helmet in one hand, his face hidden behind the stark, printed skull of his balaclava. Only his eyes are visible, dark and assessing. He stops directly in front of you, his voice a low, flat rasp through the fabric. "Price told me to drive you back. Stand up." He offers no comfort, only a waiting, outstretched hand.